


when the widow came to town

by navaan



Category: 1872 (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alcoholic Tony Stark, Backstory, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Natasha-centric, Outlaw Natasha Romanova, POV Female Character, Pre-Canon, Western, Yuletide 2015, hinted romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Natasha came to Timely, she was drenched in what was mostly her own blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the widow came to town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musamihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/gifts).



She rides into Timely on horseback, dehydrated and bleeding out. It's the middle of the night, she's far from any other settlement and she heard there was doctor in town. On her own the desert will kill her if the blood loss doesn't do it first. It's no real choice, no conscious plan of action, just instinct, setting her course.

Survival has become her driving force and she'll get help, even if she'll have to get it by pointing a gun at someone's head. 

Of course she has heard of Fisk and his gang and she knows they will hunt her down if they ever figure out who she is. The man's influence spreads to many more towns in the area, but so far she has managed to avoid any run ins with them. At least she has successfully avoided any of them noticing her and her work and walk away from it alive. Efficiency is key to survival. 

But now she needs a doctor and she would prefer that to go unnoticed. Because there's always a chance that _someone_ will put two and two together, realize who managed to put the bullet in her, before her knife sliced through his throat and ended his miserable life. Thugs have friends and enemies, but whatever they are to each other they usually keep track. And tonight Natasha can't use someone making the right connections about outlaws nobody has seen for days and woman in men's clothing riding into town with gunshot wounds.

Time is running out for her and fast. Desperation is the only thing holding her in the saddle, while every fiber of her being want just to let go.

Natasha tries to sit up, pulls her hat deeper into her eyes to hide her face. For such a small and inconsequential town the streets of Timely are surprisingly busy this time of night and she doesn't like that. It's dangerous. Too dangerous.

It's hard to stay alert when your body is just pain and fever and fatigue. 

A good-looking blond man appears on a porch before her, but he barely throws her a glance as he's looking over at the saloon with a dark frown.

She recognizes the star on his chest belatedly and tries to keep a steady pace, move past him before he focuses on her. The man vanishes into the house and she doesn't know how long she can hold on. Consciousness is slipping. But she'll be damned if she dies in front of the town jail. The concept of fate has overshadowed her life and she is not going to meet an untimely death in a backwater place called Timely, like she's paying for her sins. She has no regrets. She's only tired and one idiot, marked for death has gotten lucky. 

In the darkness she sees the sign of the apothecary. Banner must be there. Her only, final chance.

Men are shouting down the street. Sweat runs down her face. She can stand pain, but this is getting unbearable. 

A drunken man staggers towards her and she feels her grip on her horse's mane slip and it's going to be to late. She feels the pain of crashing into the ground and asks herself where the horse went, where the ground comes from so suddenly. But everything is slipping.

Bourbon breath on her face.

She feels sick.

This is it.

It's a disgrace.

Someone mutters words and shakes her.

It's too late.

* * *

“Look,” a male voice says. “You are a doctor, help her.”

“You're drunk. And your shirt is red with blood.”

“Yes, I am. Yes, it is,” the words are said in a sing-song voice. “Doesn't matter.”

She wishes she could open her eyes. But she's not really here. She doesn't know _where_ she is. The world is heavy and unbearable.

* * *

She slips in and out of consciousness. She's moved. She can't breathe.

“What are you doing here, Stark?”

“Helping out a friend, Barnes,” a voice above her slurs.

“You're drunk enough to fall over.”

Different hands grab her. Carry her.

She needs her knife. Where is her knife?

* * *

The smell of burning fabric wakes her and someone is humming a song. She's home. Mother will tell her a Russian fairy tale. She's home. She can sleep back into dreamless sleep. Mother is alive. She's safe.

* * *

“She did not fall from her horse, Stark. I'm not stupid.”

“Deputy, deputy. Ask Banner. I was drunk. I scared her horse. She fell. She hit her head.”

“You are always drunk. Is that also why she's dressed in your shirt?”

Amused and slightly unhinged laughter. “You keeping track of my shirts or is that the sheriff?”

“It's how Steve can tell when you spent the night at the saloon.”

Voices snap. Quarrel. Her head hurts.

She fell.

Off a horse.

But the pain is much too focused. Not her head. Knife wound.

She did not hit her head at all.

She needs her knife.

“Look,” the second man says and sighs. “There are three bodies with slit throats in the desert. We know what the papers have to say about it. The Widow is in town. A stranger with a gun shot wound is here. What would you think in my place.”

“I'd have a drink and tell myself that the Widow is a myth to frighten little children. This town is rotten anyway. Everyone could have done it. Natasha is a friend. I scared her horse, because I was drunk, Barnes. She got hurt because of me.”

“Whatever you say, Stark. Don't expect me to cry over your corpse when you don't wake up, because your throat was slit.”

The man snorts. “You make it sound so tedious.” He makes it sound like he's looking forward to it.

* * *

She comes awake with a sudden jolt. Someone moves loudly in the darkness.

Threat. Take them out. Now.

She reaches under the pillow.

“You looking for this, sweetheart?” It's so dark still, but a candle on a table in the middle of the room lets her see the blade of her knife, a glint of silvery steel in the dark room.

She freezes, takes stock, looks up, meets a neutral blue gaze and freezes again. “You,” she says.

“Me,” he says. “Ms. Romanova.”

“Mr. Stark.”

They stare at each other for a long time. He isn't moving, sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair, his suit crumpled and dirty and a bottle of whiskey at his side. His eyes are bloodshot. She remembers the attractive man she danced with in New York a life time ago, when she had been oh so very young and the only lines on his face had been from laughing so much. “So you _are_ the famous Widow. I could never quite figure that one out.”

“It's just a stupid name.”

“I'm sure.” He takes a sip from the bottle. “I never thanked you enough for your help with... Stane.” It looks like saying the name causes him physical pain, like saying and remembering makes him sick.

She tries to shrug, but the smallest movement nearly makes her cry out. She gasps and doubles over and Stark comes to stand at her side, her knife in one hand, the bottle in the other, sets both on the night table before he helps to settle her down. “Where...” she is still gasping in pain. “Where are your friends? The dark skinned man and the red head?”

A half-satisfied smile accompanies his next words. “Oh, Pepper mysteriously came into possession of the main share in my former company. It's all quite legal. And Jim is right there with her making sure, she will get to be the one in charge for as long as she wants to.”

For that very short moment, he looks sober and clear eyed and there's a hint of the old Stark in him. It makes it sadder when he takes another swig from the bottle, eyes dark and full of self-loathing.

Seems, like the man has found a new and excruciatingly slow way to kill himself this time.

“Why are you helping me?”

“You helped me once. Or the Widow did. Whatever you prefer, sweetheart. I'll help you now.”

* * *

Next time she wakes, Tony is nowhere to be found. The handsome deputy is leaning against a wall watching her. “Welcome to Timely, Ms. Romanova,” he says. She remembers the tense voice from fever dreams.

With a blank face she watches as he walks back and forth for a while. “Stark is sobering up in a cell. We did not want to leave you alone... with a concussion.” 

She can't trust him. He's fishing for information. 

Tony has returned her knife. It's under the pillow.

She knows this game.

“Is he alright?” she asks with a quivering voice, playing her role nicely.

Unexpectedly he smiles. “No, I don't think so. He wouldn't stay here if he were. What do you think? You're his old friend, right?”

“He's tougher than he knows, but life has not always been good to him,” she says sagely. Stark is always hardest on himself. He's the one who will never forgive himself.

When the young man leaves to send the doctor her way, he tells her from the doorway: “They had it coming. Every single one of them. We both know it. If I knew where to find the Widow, I'd thank her. Of course, I don't. So that's that.”

He leaves.

She's left to stare at the closing door.

* * *

Timely is not her graveyard.

It's a new beginning.

Tony rarely speaks to her and every-time their eyes meet when they cross each other in the street she can see hints of blood and guilt and haunted dreams in his eyes. Not all of it is Stane's broken body lying at her feet. He has many ghosts and he won't lay them to rest.

She's alright with the distance. They both don't need the scrutiny. 

For now James is her reason to stay. Just for a while. Until she's completely healed. Until she gets tired of the charade. Of the respectable life away from kill or be killed.

She'll leave soon. She never stays long. And there's always work to do. But she wears the dress that Banner provides her with and lets James take her hand as he walks her up the street. She can play this role for a while.

And James smile is like a promise of more. It's sweet.

Just for a while, Timely can be her home.

Just for a while the Widow can rest.


End file.
